


accords

by parsnipit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Angst, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Makara family, Multi, Pale Porn (Homestuck), Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, a dab of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: A collection of short fics from Tumblr prompts, ft. an abundance of relationships and slice-of-life stories.





	1. (pale gamkar) i'm not blaming you, i'm just saying this looks awfully suspicious

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: blood, mentions of violence, injury

“I’m not blaming you,” Terezi says, folding her arms across her chest and looking haughtily at you, “I’m just saying this looks awfully suspicious.”

“Yeah, well, you’d think so,” you mutter, flattening your ears and licking olive blood from your claws. “Must really get you goin’, bein’ able to pin this on me. Easy, too. Of course it was the highblood what started it. _Of motherfuckin’ course.”_

“I said I’m not blaming you, fucker. Try listening once in a while.” She cuffs you over the horns and you bare teeth at her. “But anybody else who saw this would want to blame you, because _yeah,_ it’s easy. Nobody else knows you’re too much of a wimp to start a fight. That’s privileged information.”

“I’ll show you _wimp,_ you—”

A scuttle screeches to a stop at the edge of the street, and Karkat bursts out of the back door, panting. “I’m here,” he says, trotting over to the two of you. “I’m here, what’s wrong, what happened, _is that blood—”_

“Never to worry, cherry-man,” Terezi says, slinging an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair. You can’t hardly stop the possessive growl that rattles to life in your chest, shifting closer to the both of them. “The world’s best legislacerator is on the case, and your boy’s innocent.”

“Of course he’s innocent!” Karkat reaches up to grab your face, hauling you down so he can study the gash across your temple, the (mercifully shallow) bite at the side of your throat. “He won’t even hurt a _spider,_ why the fuck would he hurt another troll? This was self-defense, it had to be—he’s a giant grub, he’s got all the evil intent of a _butterfly—”_

You are the butterfly, it is you. You lean into Karkat’s hand, whining anxiously for him, and he shooshes you softly. His hands take to papping your cheeks—firm, rhythmic little pats that have you settling back into your bones, breathing more deeply, and you hum appreciatively. Your eyes flutter closed, and he brushes his thumbs just beneath them. 

“If you’d like to avoid a scene,” Terezi says, clearing her throat pointedly, “you can take him home now. I’ve gotten all the information I need from him at this point.”

“Oh, thank fuck. Let me know what you find out from the olive,” Karkat says, already marching you towards the scuttle. He does his best to keep his hands off you during the drive, you can tell, but he’s still latched onto you the whole way. He’s got one leg draped defensively over yours, an arm wrapped around your waist, and a glare for the driver if ever she dares to look back at you. Once you get home, he herds you to the ablutions block and wastes no time in stripping your clothes off. 

“I’m fine, best friend,” you insist as he prowls around you, surveying your wounds—a clawmark here, a bite there, a bruise from the blow of a fighting staff. “Naught but flesh wounds, and barely that.”

“That doesn’t constitute _fine,”_ Karkat says, baring his teeth and stomping out of the block. When he returns, he’s got your first aid kit in hand, and he slams it down on the counter. “Sit.”

You sit.

“Good. Don’t move.”

You don’t move. 

Karkat fusses around you, cleaning out your wounds, rasping his tongue over them before slathering them in antibiotic ointment and bandages. Once he’s done, he wraps his arms around your neck and squeezes you tightly. You slide your arms around his waist, feel the silent hum of a growl in his chest. Pet hands over his back, his sides, breathe out a gentle shoosh against his throat. 

“I’m okay, best friend,” you murmur, and he digs fingers into your hair. “I’m just fine. A scuffle, that’s all, just a silly scuffle.”

“You didn’t start it?” he asks, hesitant—afraid for you to say no, no doubt, afraid to see you as anything worse than a grub or a butterfly.

“I didn’t start it.” 

He relaxes some, gliding his claws along your scalp. You stand up, move to pick him up with you, and he shows you his nubby fangs and hisses, gone stiff all over. “Don’t you _fucking dare._ I don’t want you reopening your wounds,” he says, grabbing your hand and hauling you along to the pileblock. “C’mere.”

He pulls you down into the pile, wraps himself around you, still humming with silent, angry growls. You stroke your hands along his shoulders, settle a palm on his cheek—his growl spikes, then settles. He needs this more than you do, right about now, and he knows it. He closes his eyes, and you take that permission for what it is. You pap him, slow and steady, press light sugar kisses to his cheeks and chin and forehead and savor the way he leans into you. His growls quiet right down, morph into anxious, breathy whines—scared him, you did. It’s rare for you to get into a fight of any sort, self-defense or not. 

“It’s alright, beloved,” you murmur to him, rubbing his back with one hand and scratching between his grubscars with the other. He shivers against you, nosing along the line of your jaw, breathing in your scent. “All’s well. We’re safe here, the both of us.”

You roll him over, spread yourself out on top of him, soothe him with your sturdy weight. He wraps his arms around your chest, kisses your collarbone, whines again so you’ll shoosh him more—and shoosh him you do. You spend a good, long time shooshing that boy, and you’d not have done anything else with your morning. It’s always a good time, piling your palemate—you can’t think of anything you’d rather have done.


	2. (pale gamkar) this is gonna hurt. a lot. but it’ll be quick. i need to pop it back into place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: injury, medical procedures

“This is gonna hurt. A lot,” you warn, and Gamzee shudders pitifully against you. You press your cheek to his, smoothing a hand across his hair, regret writhing in your chest. God, fuck, you don’t want to hurt him. “But it’ll be quick, I promise. I just need to pop it back into place.”

“I know,” he says, voice muffled and miserable against your shoulder. Poor wretched thing. If this doesn’t teach him not to climb trees with precariously shaky branches, nothing will. “‘s okay. I get it, brother.” His voice cracks pitifully, and you croon soothingly to him. “Let’s get a motherfucker done.”

“Alright.” You sit back, cupping his cheek for a moment. “Lay down for me.”

Gamzee slowly lays down, and you shove your your hoodie beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, although you try to keep his thorax as flat to the ground as possible. He clutches his dislocated arm tightly to his chest, and you sit next to his hip, stroking a hand soothingly across his chest. His every outbreath is a weak, muffled whine that has your instincts clamoring to _fix him fix him fix him fix him._

“Just relax, okay? This’ll work a lot better if you aren’t tense.” You stroke a hand over his bicep, feel the agitated clench of his muscles beneath your palm. He’s strung tight, hurting, and you shoosh him softly. He lets his eyes flutter closed, taking a deep, measured breath. “That’s it, good job, Gam. You’re doing awesome. What were you thinking, huh?” You reach out, tweaking his nose. “For an _apple,_ of all things?”

A weak smile flickers across his face. “Damn thing better be worth it.”

“We can make a pie with it once we get back home.”

“You got it packed safe?”

“Nice and snug in the rucksack. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Mm.” He bumps a knee against your side. “Sorry, best friend. Ruined our trip.”

“Hey, no. It’s not your fault—I mean, okay, so kind of it is, but it’s not like you _planned_ to fall out of the tree. Besides, the whole trip isn’t ruined just because of this.” You rub his chest gently with the heel of your hand, slow circles to coax him into breathing steadily. “I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely.” As you talk, you coax his injured arm away from his chest, lay it straight on the ground beside him. He stiffens up again, so you stop there. “The sunset was beautiful, and that lunch you made? Fucking delicious, as per usual.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” He cracks an eye open, looking fondly at you. “I like you.”

You snort. “I like you too, dumbass. Hey, what’d you put in those sandwiches, anyway?”

“Oh, those? Simple, brother,” he murmurs, shutting his eye again. You guide his arm around, so his palm faces the ground, and he takes a shaky breath. “Got the recipe from Roxy. Monte Cristo sandwiches with a twist, ‘s all.”

“You say that like I know what a Monte Cristo sandwich is,” you say wryly, gently beginning to guide his arm out, keeping it level with his body. He squirms uncomfortably, ears pinning, and you hush him softly. “Easy, Gam. I’ve got you. Tell me how you made the sandwiches.”

“Just—ham, Gruyere cheese on sourdough, some mayo and mustard. Added some strawberry jelly to cut through the salt of it all. Dip—” His breath hitches as his arm reaches a ninety-degree angle from his body, so you pause for a moment. “Dipped the whole thing in egg, fried it in the skillet. Easy as pie.”

You reach out, press your fingers gently to his injured shoulder. You can feel the socket, feel the head of his humerus just a few inches away from where it should be. Almost there—you twist his arm, feel the humerus head twist under your fingers, and he whines breathlessly. “Well, they were fucking fantastic,” you tell him, reaching out to sweep his bangs away from his forehead. “And you’ve done so well, Gamzee. Just a few more seconds, okay? It’s almost back in.”

“No rush, brother,” he says mournfully. “I packed dinner just in case.”

“For real?”

“You know me, always prepared.”

“That is literally not you at all. You just wanted to show off, didn’t you? You cute-ass little shit. What’d you make?”

“Shit’s a secret.”

“Gimme a hint.”

“Uuuh—” His brow furrows as he thinks, and just as it does, you shove his shoulder up and back. Pop. He snarls in surprise and pain, his claws digging into the ground beside him and his eyes snapping open. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit, motherfucking _shit—”_

“Shhh, shh-shh-shh, all over, all done,” you murmur, guiding his arm to rest over his chest again before reaching up to pap his cheeks. He groans at you, slumping back against the ground. “That’s it, Gam, just relax. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He opens a single eye to give you a withering look and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, okay, it sucked. But does it feel better now?”

He pauses, rolling his shoulder tentatively. “Yeah, for sure. Damn. You did a miracle and half on it, best friend.”

“Basic field medicine schoolfeed,” you say, waving him off, although you’re secretly pleased. Hell yeah, you’re the mediculler, it’s you. “Sit up and hold it against your chest. I’ll get the sling—and then let’s eat dinner, because you’ve got me curious, now.”

Gamzee laughs, sitting up and cradling his arm to his chest. “By all means, little brother. Let’s eat dinner—and tonight we’ll make some bitchin’ apple pie.”


	3. (pitch gamrezi) damn—i’d hate to see the other guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: implied violence, blood, injuries, some nsfw stuff (nothing too explicit, but it’s definitely not sfw either)

“Damn,” you mutter, dabbing a damp washcloth at Terezi’s split lip. It comes away stained with bright teal blood. “I’d hate to see the other guy.”

“Hell yeah you would,” Terezi says, but it lacks her usual vigor—her ears are down, her shoulders slumped and exhausted. “I showed _him.”_

“Mm, sure.” 

“What?” Her head jerks up and she bristles and ah, _there’s_ a flash of the feisty bitch you know and loathe, for well and true. “You don’t think I did?”

You shrug. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. What _I_ don’t understand, sister, is why you gotta be picking fights anyway. Fuckin’ stupid.”

She bares her teeth, and you lean back to rinse the washcloth off before pressing it to her swollen eye. Her hand comes up to cover yours, claws digging into your skin. “Believe it or not, some of us are actually capable of standing up for ourselves—not that you’d understand that, you fucking pushover.”

You push the washcloth a little harder to her eye, then yank back, letting her hold it there her own goddamn self. “If I wanted to stand up for myself, sister,” you say, offering her a ragged grin, “there’d be a lot of people end up dead.”

“Oh, don’t be so _arrogant,”_ she snaps as you dump a liberal amount of disinfectant over the gouges on her free hand. She hisses, jerking back. “You’re hardly as dangerous as you seem to think you are. You’re just afraid of yourself; don’t make it sound any more melodramatic than it already is.”

“Why does it have to be cowardice to avoid hurting people?” you ask, scrubbing her hand dry and slapping on a bandage. “Why is fucking someone else up considered _courageous?”_

She falls silent. 

“Yeah.” You snort. “What I thought, sister.”

She lets you finished bandaging her in silence, then, when you sit back, says, “Sollux will be here soon. You don’t have to stay.”

You shrug, leaning back against the counter and folding your arms across your chest. “I got nowhere to be. Karkat’s at Dave’s this weekend.”

She studies her knees, then glances up at you. “You know, you really fuck up my worldview every time you come over.”

“That’s my job, ain’t it, little spade?”

She stands up—pushes up on her tiptoes to shove her face into yours, bares all her yellow shark teeth. You don’t stoop to make it any easier. Stand straighter, if anything. “I hate you, you know that?”

“Well aware.” You cock your head, narrow your eyes, issue her a challenge she’ll be hard-pressed to resist. “What you gonna do about it?”

What she does is reach up, tangle her fingers into your hair, and yank your face down so she can kiss you. You’re cool with that. You are _so_ cool with that. You kiss her back, taste the cool-salt-metal of her blood, smell her hate curling bitter and dark around you. Your fangs click together, painful and messy, and then she’s growling possessive in her chest. Her claws rake and sting across your scalp, and her hips press hard to yours, pin you back against the counter. She wedges a knee between your legs and your breath hitches—a moment of weakness she takes full advantage of. 

“I’m going to take you apart,” she hisses, grinding her knee up while you’re still squirmin’ so you gasp and shudder. _“That’s_ what I’m going to do about it, you cocky bastard. I’m going to take you apart, piece by fucking piece, _right here—_ and you wouldn’t even mind, would you? You’re absolutely shameless; I bet you’d love it. I’d have to take you down a few notches, make you beg—you think I could get you to cry for me?”

A hungry pitch trill rises in your throat, but you swallow it back with every ounce of stubbornness you got in you. “Unlikely, sister—weak and weary as you are, a motherfucker’s hard-pressed to believe you could do any damage right about now. Mm, but if you ask politely—” You cup her face, prick your claws against her cheeks. “—I can see about doin’ you easy.”

“You think _you’d_ be the one fucking _me?”_ She throws her head back, cackles, and you lean forward and press your teeth warningly against her throat. Her breath stutters and she digs claws into your shoulders. When she speaks again, she’s a touch more breathless, and you preen to hear that. “Unlikely, Makara, you goddamn sub.”

“Consider it a reward,” you purr, rasping your tongue along her throat, “for bein’ such a badass bitch and winning that fight—senseless and stupid though it was.”

“Oh, I get it now, fucker. You’re just horny because I’m bleeding.”

You snort. “Yeah, that’s the only reason.”

“Freaky clowns and their freaky blood kinks—”

“Mm.” You kiss her again, lap across the split in her lower lip. “You say that like you it doesn’t get you just as motherfuckin’ riled, ‘rezi.”

She bites your tongue, the fucker, and you hiss and jerk back—a pitch thrill runs straight down your spine, curls hot in your abdomen. “What if I wanted to fuck _you_ as my reward?” she asks, smoothing her palms along the plane of your stomach. 

You lid your eyes, look at her through your lashes, offer her a smile what might even be considered demure (though demure is the last thing you ever do feel around _her)._ “Well, now—a motherfucker could be convinced.”

Terezi grins, stretching up to kiss you again, dabbing her own tongue apologetically at the damn teethmarks she left in yours. “That’s more like it.”

“But—” You sigh gustily, like you’re real put-out (and kind of you are), “ —I’m afraid that’s gonna have to wait, sister.”

“What?” she demands, all baffled belligerence. “Why the fuck do we have to wait?”

You push her back, shake yourself off. “Why, because your moirail’s gonna be here soon to give you a right proper scolding for that fight what you got yourself in, and I get the feelin’ you don’t wanna be greeting him with pitch bulge.” You eye her crotch pointedly. “Best take some time to settle down.”

“Oh, _fuck you—_ this is your fault, you know!” 

You grin. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

“You goddamn _tease—_ just wait until Sollux leaves,” she hisses. “I’ll tear you to pieces.”

“I look forward to it,” you say, laughing and sauntering your way towards her rumpusblock, “but in the meantime you get to settle down, sister. Patience is a virtue, mind you.”


	4. (pale gamkar) who did this to you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, implied violence, injury, brief self-loathing

Karkat crouches in the far corner, his chest heaving, teeth bared and claws curved. Bronze blood clings to his hands, his clothes, his hair. His breath comes in ragged rasps, and when he looks at you, there’s no recognition in his gaze. His eyes burn violent, unseeing red. Your heart (thundering, it’s been thundering ever since he didn’t answer you, ever since you saw the door of your hive crashed open and the blood slicking the floors) wrenches painfully at the sight of him. 

“Oh, Karkat,” you breathe, dropping yourself into a crouch—low, unthreatening. “Oh, best friend, who the fuck did this to you?”

Karkat’s ears prick, and his growl rolls into something deeper and more dangerous when you speak. You recognize a threat when you see one, and you hold your hands up, palms out and open. He licks his teeth anxiously. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you say. Your voice shakes. You clear your throat and he flinches, but when you speak again, your words are stronger, more sure. “It’s okay, love. It’s just me. Ain’t nobody here to lay fang or claw on you, not anymore. You don’t gotta be scared—I’ll protect you, won’t let anybody near.”

You inch forward and he flattens his ears, rolls his jaw back to show you each little fang he does possess in all its gleaming glory. You shoosh him—a low, soft sound from deep in your chest—and he hesitates, ears flicking forward again. 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s it, little brother. Just pay attention to me. I’ve got you.”

You shoosh him again, stretch a hand forward again—quicker than you ought have, you’ll realize later, but right now you’re out of your mind with worry and he’s bleeding but you don’t know where from and you gotta see his wounds, you gotta fix ‘em, you need to have and hold. Thing is, Karkat ain’t ready to be had and held. If you’d been looking, you’d have seen the signs—seen his ears pressed flat, the muscles in his jaw rolling, the sharp spike in his growl as you reach for him.

He gave you a right fair warning, so you can’t hardly blame him when he sinks his teeth into your hand and _bites._

Your first instinct is to snarl and jerk away, because _holy fuck_ your brother’s teeth are nubby but that bite ain’t nothin’ to play around with. Fortunately, you still got some of your wits around you, ‘cause if you’d have followed your first instinct Karkat would’ve met you with claws, too. As it is, you hiss a breath in through your teeth and hold still and quiet and he stays frozen stiff, claws dug into the floor and not your flesh. Thank Messiahs for small mercies. 

“Best friend,” you say, soft, and his breath shudders. Purple blood trickles down the corner of his jaw. “You got a hell of a bite, you know that?” He stares at you, pupils mere pinpricks in his irses, uncomprehending and terrified. “Yeah. Shit, yeah. Of course you know. Gonna need you to let go, though, brother—Karkat.” You don’t pull back on your hand, lest it encourage him to bite down harder (predator instinct, that). Just hold it still, wait for him to realize you ain’t a threat and his jaw’s gettin’ tired. “Let go now.”

You shoosh him, see him hesitate again, and then he unlatches his teeth and flings himself back into the corner, snarling. You don’t reach for him again—nah. You’re watching, now, you’re seein’ him for true. He ain’t in control of himself, not at all, and you can’t let him carry on like that. He’s liable to hurt himself or somebody else, and you _need_ to see his wounds. Only one thing for it, then.

“I’m sorry, little brother,” you tell him, and you are—you’re the sorry sonuvabitch who can’t settle his palemate quick enough to soothe his hurts before he bleeds out. If only you had been paying _attention._ If only you were better at quieting his rages, the way he quiets yours. If only you were a better moirail. _If only._ “I’m fuckin’ sorry.”

And then you lunge.

Karkat slams himself back against the wall, his eyes widening—surprised. Maybe he _was_ coming to trust you, just for a second, and now you’re about to get him riled again. Well, there’s no help for it, now. You gotta follow through before he gets his wits around to defend himself.

You grab Karkat before he can get his dastardly teeth into you again, push him around and yank him back against your chest. Reach for his wrists, take one in each hand and cross them over his chest so he can’t claw you. Lean forward, set your chin on his shoulder so he can’t turn his head enough to bite you, and then you wait. 

Karkat, quite predictably, doesn’t fancy this arrangement. He explodes into vicious snarling, trying to writhe his way out of your grip—you hold him firm and steady, keep him from twisting too much, lest he injure himself further. You hate this. You hate it, you hate it, _you hate it._ You shoosh him desperately, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to face his terror at being caught, at being _trapped._ His blood is sticky on your fingers, and you can taste his fear in the air, sour and sharp. What’s more, you can _feel_ it—that jagged pulse of terror that your ‘voodoos yearn to grasp and tear away from him. (But you won’t use them, you _can’t,_ not without his permission, not even to take his fear from him. His emotions are his own and you have no right to hide them from him.) The only thing you can do is have and hold, so you do—

You have. You hold. You wait. (You pray.)


	5. (ashen gamzee/kanaya/kurloz) i'm supposed to believe this was an accident?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: injuries, brief violence, references to child neglect

“I’m supposed to believe this was an accident?” Kanaya demands, and you huddle a little closer to Karkat, because that badass lipstick she’s wielding does _not_ look friendly, and you done been made well motherfuckin’ aware of what it can do. “What kind of a fool do you Makaras take me for?”

Across the block, Kurloz scowls at his feet and—predictable shit—doesn’t respond. 

“No fool at all, big sister,” you mutter sullenly, pressing your forehead to Karkat’s shoulder so you won’t have to look at her. He paps you gently, then yanks quite _un_ gently on your hair so you have to glance back up at Kanaya.

“Come here,” Kanaya says, her voice hard, and you shrink even further into yourself, near about hopping from foot to foot with discomfort. Bein’ around her anger is like standin’ on hot coals, fuckin’ hell. “Gamzee Makara, quit cowering behind your moirail and come _here._ Right this minute.”

You whine at her—her scowl deepens, but it’s Karkat who acts first. He elbows you a little in the gut, just to get you to quit leanin’ on him, then steps behind you and shoves you towards Kanaya. “Go on,” he says, frowning stern at you when you look pleadingly back at him. “Go talk to your auspistice. You got yourself into this mess, now deal with it. I'll talk to you later.”

You pout at him. Traitor. Cute traitor, and one you’ll have to pile later—but still a traitor.

“Call me if you need me, Kanaya. He can keep himself calm right now,” Karkat says, padding towards the door, "so he’s all yours. Do what you need to do and then send him my way.”

“Certainly, Karkat. I’ll take good care of him. As you know, dealing with these boys is my utmost pleasure.” Her eyes burn. The door clicks closed behind Karkat. You gulp. “Gamzee. _Here.”_ She points at her side, and you slink to your place like a kicked barkbeast, if only to get that burning gaze off of you and turned to Kurloz, instead. She doesn’t even need to speak to him—just points, and he comes right on over, his metaphorical tail between his legs. Fucker. Ain’t so tough now, is he? You bare teeth at him over her head, and he pins his ears, and she whips around faster than you can credit and socks you in the jaw—not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to say _knock it the hell off, motherfucker_ good and clear.

You knock it the hell off, just for a minute. Just until your jaw stops stinging. 

“Now,” she says, cold. “Who wants to explain to me what _really_ happened here?”

 _Gamzee started it,_ Kurloz signs—his ‘voodoos surge around you, too, and you’ve no doubt he’s speaking the same words directly into Kanaya’s thoughts. 

“What?” you snarl, bristling. _“Me?_ Motherfucker that is the most untrue thing you ever did speak, and by Messiahs, but that’s saying a lot, you blasphemous fucking piece of—”

“Enough!” Kanaya snaps, reaching up to grab the collar of your shirt and yank you down to her level (which ain’t much lower than yours, by all rights). “Enough, Gamzee. You’ll get your turn. Let Kurloz finish speaking before you butt in.”

“But he’s _lying—”_

“You will _let him speak._ When he is done, I will listen to you. If you can’t handle that, you can go sit the corner until I’m ready to talk to you. Do I make myself clear?”

You blink at her. Even your own _lusus_ never did make you sit in a _corner._ (Not that your lusus did much of anything, to be fair. What even the fuck _is_ discipline?) It’s—humiliating, and it chafes at you unexpectedly sharp. Your lips twitch away from your teeth. “Like you could make me do anything, sister,” you sneer. “Lowblood filth like you.” 

A low blow, and one you don’t rightly mean (and one you know Karkat’d be hells of pissed if he heard you say), but one that soothes your pride some and lets you feel a little more in control of the situat—

Kanaya punches you in the nose this time.

You stumble backwards, yowling, your ears flattening with the pain. She doesn’t let you off there, either—she slams her fingers into your diaphragm so you cough and wheeze, then drops back onto her hands and sweeps her legs out to knock your feet out from under you. You crash down onto your ass, still gulping for breath, and she headbutts you hard enough the block spins (or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen because _ow,_ your diaphragm). Wow. _Wow._

You really hate her a lot.

“Corner,” she snarls at you, all fang and flat-eared and her iron composure snapped for a few blissful seconds. _“Now.”_

You’ve fought her at this point, quite a few times. She’ll get you backed into a corner, give you the options of _submit_ or _fight_ and you’ve soundly flipped your lid because of it before. Ain’t _used_ to being made to surrender when you don’t want to. You like your control, _fuck yeah you do,_ and it rattles you up when someone tries to take it from you (someone other than Karkat, that is). Most people are too afraid of you nowadays to try taking it, anyways. You’re a highblood, a right vicious monster, and naught wants to take a stand against you—

Naught but your quadrants, and you cling fiercely to them because of it.

So hell yeah, you’ve fought Kanaya before. She’s one of the few trolls you _can_ fight without gettin’ the fear in you that you’ll hurt ‘em or scare ‘em something fierce. What’s more, there’s something exhilarating in the fight, some relief to be found in being _made_ to surrender. You aren’t the strongest, here. You don’t have to be afraid of yourself. There are those around as can control you, if you get out of hand, and a comfort that is. 

Tonight, though—well, tonight, you’ve already had your fill of fighting. Kurloz satisfied that hungry need quite soundly, and he exhausted you doing it. Stronger than you, him—stronger by far, and bigger, and a couple thousand sweeps’ more experienced with his ‘voodoos. You’re sore and tired already, and you got no need to be forced into surrender again. You drop your ears, dart your eyes away from hers, tip your chin up to show her your throat in submission. She relaxes in front of you, approval warming her gaze.

“Corner,” she repeats, more quietly, and you slink obediently to your corner. You huddle down in it, back to the wall, and hug your knees to your chest.

Kanaya returns to Kurloz, and he flashes you a smug look over her head—she kicks his shin for that, good on her. The two of them talk quietly for a few moments, Kurloz speaking with his ‘voodoos more than his hands. You rest your chin on your knees, close your eyes. You breathe. Your heartbeat begins to slow, your thoughts settling down from their clash-clamor noise. When Kanaya crouches in front of you, at last, you’re ready to talk.

“Tell me what happened,” she says, simply, smoothing her skirt over her knees. So you tell her—you tell her how Kurloz had made a snide remark about Karkat’s blood, how you’d snipped back with an inconsiderate remark about Mituna, how the two of you had dissolved into petty verbal blows and eventually into full-fledged ashen brawling. As you speak, she takes your hands into hers, rasps her tongue roughly but thoroughly over the scrapes on your knuckles, the scratches along your arms, and you relax further. She cares. She hates you, but she still _cares._

Once you’ve finished speaking, she motions Kurloz over. He crouches in front of you, won’t meet yours eyes. “Apologize for what you said about Karkat,” Kanaya orders, and Kurloz heaves a great big sigh. Your claws twitch and Kanaya squeezes your hand, prickles her own claws warningly at your wrist. 

_I’m sorry,_ Kurloz signs, hunching his shoulders.

“Now you,” Kanaya says, looking firmly at you. “Apologize for what you said about Mituna.”

“I’m—sorry,” you say, grinding your teeth at the sting of humiliation in your chest. You hate apologizing to him. You _hate it._

“Both of you were in the wrong,” Kanaya says, folding her arms across her chest. “You shouldn’t be speaking that way about our _friends._ You both need to mind yourselves. A fight between the two of you disturbs the peace of the entire ship, thanks to your chucklevoodoos, and that _includes_ the peace of your moirails. Did you think about that at all? Did you think about how you scared Karkat and Mituna?”

The both of you glance away. You hug yourself unhappily. 

“That’s what I thought. _Think_ before you speak, my goodness.”

She goes on to give the both of you a sound scolding, and by the time you return to Karkat you are well-chastised and quite humbled, but that’s alright, you’ve decided. You needed it. You needed _her._ She’s a perfect club (and so, you will grudgingly admit, is Kurloz) and things are gonna be just fine.


	6. (pale gamkar) i told you not to act recklessly like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: unresolved argument, mentions of violence/death

“I told you not to act recklessly like that,” you snarl, pacing furiously along the far wall of your block. “You might think you’re protecting me, but you’re gonna get yourself _killed_ if you keep jumping in like that.”

Across from you, tucked up in your armchair and sulking, Gamzee has to nerve to _scoff._

You whirl around, bristling. _“What?_ What’s so funny now, chucklefuck? What part of this is fucking _laughable—”_

“You,” he says, curling his upper lip back to show you the full length of his eyeteeth, “accusing _me_ of being reckless. Brother, I wouldn’t need to be _jumping in_ if you’d have any sort of caution or care for yourself. But you don’t, do you, now? And if you ain’t gonna protect yourself, well, who does that duty fall to but _me?”_

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you hiss, pinning your ears. “I didn’t ask you to be responsible for me. I’m an _adult._ I can take care of myself—”

“Then why don’t you?” Gamzee demands, his eyes blazing. “You aren’t stupid, Karkat. You knew taking on that many of the enemy was a goddamn fool thing to do. What did you expect of me? To just sit back and watch you struggle, watch you _hurt?_ Fuck no. _Fuck no,_ best friend, and you can just _be_ pissed about it.” He folds his arms over his chest, glowering at you.

You grind your teeth hard enough your jaw aches. “I know what I can handle. You’re not my fucking _lusus.”_

“Good. Ain’t what I’m aiming to be.”

“But you don’t—you—” You tangle your claws into your hair, frustrated. “Okay, so maybe what I did was stupid, _but what you did was stupid too._ You could have been hurt, could have been _killed—”_

“As you could’ve, best friend.” He shrugs helplessly. “Such is the life of a soldier. That’s a risk we take every night, but you don’t need to go _calling_ on death.”

“I wasn’t _calling—”_

“Yeah, you were. You don’t think enough about keeping yourself safe, best friend, and I can’t do it all for you. Shit’s dangerous. I _know_ shit’s dangerous, but when you put me in a position like that—” He spreads his hands, looking pleadingly at you. “What else am I supposed to do but jump in to help?”

You let out a slow breath. He’s right. You know he’s right, but it’s still so goddamn frustrating, because you’re—you’re—“I know. Fuck, I know I put you in a difficult position, and for that, I’m sorry. But Gam—” You falter, and he looks intently at you, every bit the attentive palemate. Your breath shivers. “Gamzee, you’ve got to—you have to realize—fuck.”

“Realize what?” Gamzee asks, ears pricked, focused. “Go on, best friend. Say what you got to.”

“I’m a limeblood,” you finish lamely, staring at your blood-spattered combat boots. There’s a small red clown-smile doodled on the toe.

“...yes,” Gamzee agrees, evidently baffled. “And…?”

“And—” You take a deep breath. “And a mutant, at that. I’ll be lucky if I live as long as a normal lime, and even if I do, that’s still only a few hundred sweeps. On the other hand, you’re a _purple._ You’ve got thousands of sweeps ahead of you. You shouldn’t just throw that away because—”

Gamzee stands abruptly. “Stop.”

“No, _listen._ I’m not worth your life, Gamzee. You’ve got so much time ahead of you. You’re gonna change the world. I’m barely a blip in your lifespan, okay? And I know maybe that blip seems like a lot now, but in a thousand sweeps you’re not even gonna remember me. So you can’t—”

_“Stop.”_

“—just throw yourself into danger to protect me all the time. It’s not worth it. I’m going to die before you, Gamzee. I can’t always be here. The sooner you can come to terms with that, the better, because once I’m gone—”

_“Shut up, Karkat.”_ Gamzee snarls at you, low and livid, eyes burning orange. You shut up. Your heart aches. “Just— _shut up.”_

You take a deep breath, look away. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, digging his claws into his hair. His hands shake. “I don’t care.”

“Gam—”

He shakes his head again, quick and furious, and stumbles towards the door. “Don’t care. Shut the fuck up.”

You step after him, reaching out, and only flinch back when he snaps his teeth at you. “Gamzee, hey, no, wait—”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He yanks the door open, flashes you a warning glare over his shoulder. “Leave me the hell alone, Karkat, or I’ll show you _motherfucking pissed.”_

He’s teetering on the edge of a genuine rage, you can see it—see it in the creep of red at the edges of his irises, the way his claws twitch, and every bit of you wants to soothe him. You stumble another step in his direction, but he slams the door closed between you before you reach him. You stand frozen, your chest rising and falling rapidly, guilt clogging your throat. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Look at you, fucking things up again. Way to go, Vantas. Nice fucking job.

You bury your face in your hands and breathe. He’ll come back. He has to. He always does. That’s the thing about Gamzee—no matter how much someone fucks up, he always comes back. He’s drawn to the broken things in life.

...that’s the only reason he’s still with you, huh?

You hope he has a better palemate, after you die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ow i made myself sad
> 
> if it's any consolation, they definitely make up after this, and there's lotsa jamming to sort out their crippling emotional problems u.u


	7. (pale gamkar) you're bleeding a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, injury
> 
> humanstuck wherein the makara family is Good
> 
> (fun facts: kurloz and gam are half-brothers with the same dad--goatdad--who somehow managed to retain custody of both of them for years despite being a neglectful piece of garbage, but eventually lost custody when gam got into kindergarten and made the teachers Suspicious with some stuff he said. they were both snatched up and goatdad's twin bro, the ghb, ended up adopting both of them and was a significantly better father and theyre all happy now u.u).

“Okay, okay, uh—shit, you’re bleeding a lot. Too much.” You take a deep, shivering breath, stroking your fingers anxiously through Gamzee’s dreads. His head is cradled in your lap, his dark skin ashy from the bloodloss, lips pale. “Kurloz, apply more pressure. I’m calling an ambulance.”

Kurloz obediently leans forward and applies more pressure to the gash in Gamzee’s thigh, and Gamzee—after yelping his discontent with the sensation—groans and says, “Hey, nah, bro. ‘s really not that bad. I feel just fine. Ain’t nothin’ to get the hospital all riled up for.”

You squish his cheeks between your hands, leaning over him to glare. “You are  _ not fine.  _ It has been fifteen minutes and you are  _ still bleeding.  _ There are lot of important blood vessels down there, fucker, and if they haven’t clotted by now they aren’t going to. We need professional help, so shut up and let me make a phone call.”

Gamzee whines, but he shuts up and lets you make the phone call. Once the ambulance is on its way, you turn your attention back to him, stroking your fingers cautiously across his cheek. He turns his face into you. “How long ‘till they’re here?”

“Just a few more minutes.” You press your forehead to his. “Think you can survive that long?”

“Shit yeah, bro.”

“Your dad’s going to kill me.”

Kurloz snorts. When you glance at him, he signs,  _ If only we were so lucky. _

“Hey, no, it was an accident,” Gamzee says, waving you both off. “And if he’s gonna be killin’ anybody, it’s gonna be me, seein’ as how it was my fault in the first place. But he likes you, Karkat.”

You bark out a disbelieving laugh. “Mr. Makara likes  _ me?” _

“For sure,” Gamzee says, smiling sleepily at you. 

“You’re delusional. It must be the blood loss.”

“No, really, bro—don’t Papa like him, ‘loz?”

_ Unfortunately,  _ Kurloz signs grimly.

“Says you’re good for me,” Gamzee continues, “and he’s right, you know. Been good for me. Real good, Karkat. You’re the sweetest little motherfuck— _ ow!”  _ He flinches away from Kurloz, sucking breath in through his teeth. “I don’t think you need to press  _ quite  _ that hard, big brother.”

You open your mouth to snap at Kurloz (sue you, snapping at him is fun), but you hear the wail of sirens before you can and let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank god. Ambulance is here.”

“You’ll come with me?” Gamzee asks anxiously. “Both of you?”

You squeeze his hand. “Of course we will, Gam. You’d have to try harder than this to get rid of us.”


End file.
